


Alpha Omega Episode 1: Hot Yoga Guy

by Slegend



Series: The Alpha Omega Series [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: A Hot Yoga Guy episode, Dom/sub Undertones, Light BDSM, M/M, Romance, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slegend/pseuds/Slegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garnet's a brat with a firey personality that's always getting him into trouble. It doesn't help that his ex-top and him are both members of the same "special group" and have the same "special friends". When Garnet's gal pal convinces him to join yoga, a whole host of adventures ensue, including a sexy man with a blue wolf tattoo; the infamous: Hot Yoga Guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first Saturday

Garnet. Who names their kid fucking Garnet? My parents, that’s who. My life’s hard enough without throwing that into the mix. Garnet is a precious jewel, not a dude’s name. I wish it were something cool like Gunner, or Maximillion, but noo-oo, my hippie parents pick ‘Garnet’.   
I write it down anyway, pissed about it. I’m going to change it, first chance I get. Just as soon as I deal with all the other bullshit in my life, I’ll go down to the ‘name place’, and become the next Sean Connery. I’m smiling now, satisfied as I pen the rest of my information down on the reusable, laminated, ‘Health History’ form. The girl behind the long desk smiles at me, her voice cheery as a pile of sunshine and asks “Are you all done with that… ?” Waiting for a name.  
To which I fill in the blank, “Parker.” Okay, I don’t actually say that, but Parker is going on the list. I like that name, it’s way cooler than Garnet.   
“Garnet.” I mumble.  
“Garnet? What a great name.”   
Yeah of course you fucking think so, your name’s probably Amethyst. “Garnet, be nice.” A little voice from beside me chimes in. “Sorry, he’s new to this.” She grabs my arm, and tugs me away from the desk, and over to an area that looks like it was designed with the sole purpose of pleasing the Yoga Gods. There are pillows on the floor arranged in a circle, around an invisible campfire. Beyond is a glass wall, which looks out to a patio that’s been furbished with a whole lot of wicker furniture. I thought we’d burned all wickers back in the seventies, but nope, here they are in the center of a semi-modern, semi-hipster, Yoga studio.  
“Geez, Garnet. It looked like your were about to murder the poor girl.” Sophie shakes her head at me. I can’t for the life of me figure out what I did wrong. I hadn’t said what I was thinking, though I’m told I don’t exactly hide what I’m thinking.   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smirk. Sophie’s known me a long time. She knows better than to take me too seriously, but that tiny little yoga person might steer clear of me next time I walk in, and scan my fab. I wouldn’t mind that, so much.   
“Arrgghhhh. You’re impossible sometimes.”   
“Me? This was your bright idea. I can’t believe you talked me into joining this place. I can feel the cult closing in on me…”  
“Garnet!” She hits me in the shoulder. “Here, come sit.” I let her drag me to the pillow circle. A little white ceramic cup is shoved in my hand, and there’s some kind of colored water inside. “Wutz this?” I try to smell it; smells like flowers.   
“It’s tea, dumbass. Drink it. It might calm you a little.” She’s already sippin’ on her tea.  
Sitting on the floor as I am, is awkward for a big guy like me, so I pull my knees into my chest, trying to make myself smaller, and take a sip prepared not to like it as much as I dislike everything else about this place, so far. I’m surprised when I actually do like it. It tastes just as flowery as it smells. I shoot it back like it’s Tequila. “You’re supposed to ‘sip’ it,” Sophie laughs.   
I’m glad she’s amused by my antics, and glad she’s suffered having a friend like me for such a long time. Only reason I’d join a place like this is for her. “Hook it up. That shits good.”   
She gets me another shot of the sweet ass yoga tea. They should get bigger cups. “Sip. It’s part of the experience,” she assures me. “You’re here to connect with yourself. Remember?”  
“Yeah, yeah.” I snatch the tea from her hand, and shoot it back. “When’s the class start?”   
“Pretty quick. We’ll go in and put our mats down when I’m done.” She lifts her mini-tea cup. “This teacher is popular, we want to get a good spot.”   
I think I’d be happier with no spot, except I just paid one hundred and seven dollars to be here for the month, and will owe that amount for another eleven after this one. I’d better get used to coming here, so I relax a little, and signal to her, my teacup is empty.   
She fills it. “That’s the last one I’m getting you. Ass. Savor it this time.” I do, but I want to shoot it back. This tea rocks. Hands down, best thing about this place. At least Zen Yoga isn’t like other Yoga studios in Vancouver, with the fucking sitar playing in the background, and incense burning.   
Sipping the tea, has its merits. It is more relaxing. “You look good G.”   
I raise my brow.   
“I know how much you like to workout, but it’s been more than usual. Am I right?”  
I nod. “Affirmative.”   
“Any particular reason why?”  
Yes, but I don’t want to admit it. I only do, because I know she’ll hound me till I do, and she’ll know if I’m lying. “Charles said that I….”  
“Ugghhh… What did he say this time?”  
“I was getting to that part.” I don’t hide my irritation at being cut off.   
“Go on.”   
“Charles said I could be a bit firmer.”   
“Could be a bit firmer? Is that how he said it?” I don’t get to answer either of her questions, but yes that was exactly how he’d said it. “Why that skinny little, stuck up, English prick. I could just… Punch him!”   
“I know I’m knew at this, but that doesn’t seem very yoga, Soph.”   
She ignores me. “Why do you still care what he thinks, anyway? You two have been spiltsville for forever now.”   
“Actually, it’s been two months.” She knows that, as well as I do, though it does feel like forever. The break-up had been hard. I spent those two months moping in my condo. I’d leave for work, but other than that it was reading in front of the bay window over looking Kits beach, day after day. Lucky for me I work in a gym. Otherwise I might have turned into a giant blob. It’s why I was easily persuaded to join yoga. Yoga is waaay not in my character. Sophie suggested yoga, as a way to heal my soul, or some shit.   
“Whatever. You’re better off,” she dismisses the whole idea of Charles. She plays at the illusion he never existed, but we both know he did and still does.  
“I know, Soph. But I still….”  
“Yeah, you still love him. I know. I wish you didn’t.”   
I wish I didn’t either, but I fucking do. The conversation is about to go way downhill, I’m about to throw my yoga tea across the room, and storm out of this Granola congregation.   
But Sophie doesn’t let me.   
“C’mon.” She stands, and picks up her yoga mat. “Let’s get our spot in class.” She takes my little teacup, puts it in the ‘dirties’ bin, grabs my hand and drags me into the room.


	2. Charles

“Power, or hot?”   
I’m confused by the question.   
“Power,” Sophie pipes up behind me. I look to her for the explanation of what just happened. “Power. That’s a type of yoga. Same as we did last Saturday.”  
“Oh.” I shrug. I don’t really care what kind it is. It’s all the same shit to me.   
The girl behind the desk gives us each a button that reads ‘Believe’, which is a token to let me into the class. Wouldn’t want anyone sneaking into Yoga class—I snort at the thought.

I look over to the pillow circle. It’s busier than it was last Saturday, but I could give a shit about the pillow circle. Sophie knows what I’m looking for. “C’mon. We’ll get you your tea, and grab a spot on the deck.”   
My tea? Since when had it become my tea?  
I don’t know, but I’m happy when she places it in my hand. I haven’t even had a sip yet, but my inner fucking chi is soothed. I love yoga tea.   
“See? Isn’t it better to sip, than to shoot?” 

I’ll give her that one; I nod and follow her out to the deck. It’s a hot day, already having reached a gazillion degrees, and it’s not yet ten am. The deck is as busy as the pillow circle, but there’s more room, so we head out. “What’s going on? Is this some sort of yoga convention?”  
“No,” she laughs. “Megan’s teaching today. That’s why we’re here, so early.”   
“We’re here early?” I’ve no clue when the classes start, I show up when she tells me to, and follow her around blindly once I’m here—I don’t want to waste too much of my time on this yoga shit.  
“Yes. Megan’s in and out. She likes to teach retreats in Nicaragua. She’s formed a following here, people know when she’s in town, and flock like sheep.” 

A yoga teacher with a following? Who knew?

I don’t know this instructor, nor do I care, but curiosity inspires me to look around, and see who this yogi-master attracts. There are countless girls decked out in this new brand of yoga gear I keep seeing, but can’t pronounce the name of. I had expected tons of Lululemon, but it’s apparent that was last season’s fashion. They’ve all got yoga mats slung on their back, and they’re all drinking yoga tea. I scan the crowd for the men folk. Yeah, I’m hoping to catch something pleasing to the eyes, but only for looking. As much as Sophie wants me to, I’m not ready for dating. 

I notice there are a lot of men here too—almost as many guys as gals. There’s one guy in particular that catches my attention. My breath catches in my throat as he sees us, and walks over.  
“Garnet.” I’d missed that smile. I’d thought about it for two months with the desperate hope he’d show up at my door, and beg me to take him back. “How are you?”  
“Good.” Mother fucker. I hate him, and I still love him. Facebook status: It’s complicated. He looks, amazing. I’d hoped, like we all do, that he’d look a mess. You, know? From crying over me for sixty days straight, recounting his wrongs, writing me letters to let me know why he’s such an asshole, and how he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me if I’d just take him back. He doesn’t look a mess though. He looks tanned, fresh, and together—like always.  
“No, he’s not, good.” Oh yeah, Sophie’s still beside me.   
“Sophie….”  
“No. He can’t just walk up to you like he’s not the world’s biggest dickhead.” She gives him her best glare, but she’s so tiny, she looks like a mouse trying to stare down a tiger. Charles isn’t a big guy, but he’s tall with enough muscle.   
Charles always liked Sophie, and he understands her. He knows how tight we are, and I know he’ll excuse her big mouth, but it doesn’t stop my cheeks from going red, and Charles running his hand through his hair. Neither one of us knows what to say.   
“Why are you here, Charles?” It feels good to see him, but I’m angry and won’t admit that to him. He knows me too well anyway, and can probably read the relief in my eyes.   
“Fuck, Garnet. I’m here for Megan’s class.” Yeah, you’re not here for me, I fucking get it, that’s not what I meant.   
“Since when do you do yoga?” If he’s a member here, I’m fucking quitting. I notice the cup in his hand; he’s drinking my fucking yoga tea, too! I want to knock it out of his hand. He shouldn’t be here. This is my recovery.   
“Easy there, mate. I’ve been doing yoga for months.”  
Months? As in we were still together, months? I want to know, but I don’t want to get into an argument here. We’d done our share over the months leading up to our break-up. And how dare he try to get me to calm down?   
He gives me a firm look. “Behave yourself, Garnet.” Then fucking stalks away. It’s like a recantation of our break-up. I’m once again left with my heart on the floor.   
“The nerve! I’m going to go over there and give him a piece of my mind.” Sophie attempts to push passed me, but I stop her easily by grabbing her arm. “Whoa, Tiger. Forget it. I’ll just fucking, leave.”   
“You can’t leave. The class…”  
“Forget the class. I’m not going in there. I know it makes me a pussy, but I can’t look at him.”   
“Don’t look at him then. Yoga isn’t about others; you’re here for you. Don’t let him ruin this.”   
I look up to see he’s gone back to his cliquey looking group. They are friends I’d never seen before. He really had been coming here for months, and I hadn’t even known. What else had I missed in our relationship?  
Sophie was right, much as I hate to admit it. I came here for a purpose; to get over that bastard. What better way than to have him in the same room? Or better still; maybe I don’t have to get over him at all. Maybe he’d see that I’m not as pathetic as he thinks; that he was wrong for leaving me… Yeah. The idea forms in my mind and grows ‘till I could hear bells, and Elton John playing in the background at our wedding.   
“Okay, Sophie. I’m in.” 

 

~AO~

“Take a tall seat, close your eyes, and let your breath become your focus.” 

I’ll let breath become my fucking focus all right. I can hear him breathing across the room. Fucker took a seat as far away from me as possible. Did he think I’d embarrass him by making a scene? We’re not together anymore, nothing I do reflects on him now. 

And not in this scene anyway.

I shouldn’t open my eyes, the Guru instructor said not to. The one with the following, so large, my yoga mat has to be flush against Sophie’s, and the stranger’s beside me. I do have some level of discipline, but it’s about to fly out those large glass windows. I open my eyes. 

Charles has moved, and in his place is a man. 

The best word I can think to describe him: Solid. He’s sitting tall, like the statue of Buddha, on top of a block, his hips falling downward, his knees connected to his mat. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of long, black yoga shorts, his bare chest proud, pointed towards the ceiling. His palms are up, hands resting neatly on each knee. He’s got hair that’s sticking up, long, and spikey; a dusty brown color, looking fresh from the surf. And muscle, he’s got plenty of muscle. Not quite like me, but it’s thick—each well-sculpted piece like someone had made him out of clay. 

He looks peaceful—he’s into this yoga shit, like, seriously. He’s been coming a long time. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. He’s got the yoga aura about him—like I’m the fucking expert on that. His eyes are closed – like the instructor asked. 

Before I know it, I’ve been staring at him for an obscene length of time, but I don’t want to take my eyes away. He’s beautiful. I want to run my hands through that shaggy, untamed hair, and my nails down his back. 

I wonder what his back will look like?

I’ve forgotten why I opened my eyes in the first place, lost in complete wonder at this perfect specimen. Where did he come from? I didn’t know men like him still existed in Vancouver.   
“Open your eyes, keeping the quiet peace with you, and move to down dog without making a sound.”   
The rest of class is a blur. After that, my focus was drawn away from my inner chi, to hot yoga guy, whom I continued stealing glances of. I watched him, and when I thought he was going to look at me, I’d look away.   
Class ends. The instructor announces she’s going back to Nicaragua, and I expect everyone to bust into a sea of Ohms for her. Thankfully they don’t.   
“See? Good class, huh?”

“Oh. Er… Yeah.” I smile at Sophie while I think of hot yoga guy in child’s pose. I’d finally got to see the canvas of his back. There was a tattoo on the top left shoulder, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. She gives me a funny look, studying me up and down. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” 

She doesn’t look to believe me. It’s hard to fool Sophie. She looks across the room, spies Charles, and assumes I’m thinking about him. “You’d better not be happy because of him.” She’s rolling up her yoga mat, and I’m picking up my rental one getting ready to toss it in the bin. I don’t want her to know the real reason my mood has lifted. She’ll get ideas, and she’s the type to walk up to the dude and get his number for me.   
This was the first time I’d looked at someone since Charles. That alone would get her going, and I’m not going there yet.

“I’m blissed out,” I say. I’d heard her say that after she’d come from yoga a few times; not sure I’m using it right. She looks suspicious, but says nothing.   
Leaving the class, Sophie and I part ways, going to our respective change rooms, and this time I do look for Charles. He’s chatting up one of the men from his yoga clique. I send a glare his way, and get my stuff. I’m not staying to shower, I’m outta here – can’t watch this, shit.

“Excuse, me,” I hear the deep voice as the muscled frame sidles passed me. I turn my head, watching as he walks out, unaware of his captive audience. It’s hot yoga guy. He’s dressed in a baggy zip up hoodie, not one of those fucking frumpy hoodies; it’s clean, and crisp. His jeans are a little baggy, ripped, and sit, just so, on his round ass.   
“Really, Garnet. That, guy?” I’m surprised at how grating, and stuffy I find his accent at the moment. I’d always loved his accent, even when he was pissed at me.   
I look up, but don’t answer then resume stuffing my shit in my bag.

“You see? This is exactly our problem, Garnet. You can’t control your temper, no matter what we did to curb it.” Yeah, we’d worked on my temper, rather, he did. I liked my temper, ‘cept when it got me into trouble, but most of the time it was an asset. Especially right now. 

Stops me from fucking crying like a baby. 

“Well, not your problem anymore,” I state. I can hear people in the showers, we aren’t alone, but there’s no one in our vicinity. Cliquey boy, the one he’d been talking to, is long gone, or maybe he’s in the shower, either way he’s not with us. Charles is wearing a towel, and nothing else except the reproving glance that I’m too familiar with.   
“I still care about you, Garnet. I meant what I said, I’m here for you… If you need me.” I know what kind of ‘need me’ he’s referring to, but I don’t want that from him, unless we’re together.   
“I’m good.”   
“Sophie, said you’re not good. Now quit being a Prat.”   
“Sophie’s got a big mouth.”   
“Now you’re just being disrespectful.”   
“Again, not your problem.” I was taking a chance talking to him this way. Our break up didn’t change his status in our other circle, the one we were both still part of. But I can give a shit right now. I’d rather take the consequences than give him an ounce of respect.   
He rakes me over keenly with his eyes; I’m surprised when he says nothing.  
“Look. Are we done? I have somewhere to be.” I have nowhere to be,‘cept as far away from him as possible. 

“I’ll come by later in the week, Garnet. See if you’ve changed your mind.”  
“I won’t. Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you.” Deep down, I hope he’ll ignore everything I’m saying right now. It’s fucked up, but I’ll want to see him later. He’s right that I need what he can offer me.

I run a hand through my dark hair, and shove both hands into my pockets probably looking like a misbehaved schoolboy. I don’t leave like I want to. He hasn’t dismissed me. My defiance will only go so far. 

“You promised me you would see one of the Dominants from the House. I’m not happy to see that you have not followed through, Garnet,” he says this quieter, so the dudes showering won’t hear, but I still feel the rush of embarrassment.   
“I don’t see why you suddenly care now – you haven’t been by in two months.”   
“I called you every week.” Calls I didn’t answer.   
“I need time.”   
“Which is why I haven’t come storming over, but you are still my responsibility.”   
That pisses me off. “I’m not your fucking responsibility anymore.”   
“Watch your mouth.” His eyes become slits as I toe a dangerous line, and step an entire foot passed it.   
“I’m not. You got rid of me, remember?” We’d had this conversation already, not to mention this was not the place to rehash it, but I’m hurt, the wound’s still too raw. I should have left when I’d wanted to, and not have listened to Sophie and her grand ideas. “I don’t need you looking after me anymore.”   
“Nevertheless, you are still a member of the community, and it is my duty.” He crosses him arms now. I know what that means; he’s deciding what to do with me. Charles has a clinical mind. I can almost see the gears turning as he weighs the pros and the cons of his options. I feel the urgency to do something before he comes to his final decision. Like it would stop my fate, the creek I’ve swam up, but that sense tugs at me, and I act rash. Stupid rash.   
“I’m not your duty. Fuck you, Charles. Leave me the fuck alone.” I may have said that a tad loud. There are daggers in his eyes along with the firmness of a decision made.   
“I understand that you are hurt, and I have made every effort to ensure our break-up would not take away from your needs. Not to mention, the leniency I have afforded you. I see now that it was the wrong approach.”   
I took that to mean he was finally going to leave me alone. I was wrong.   
“You have gone too long without attention. You will see to it, or I will. You have until Wednesday evening.” He is still being discrete despite my outburst. I don’t deserve it, not that I would tell him that.  
“You don’t have my permission. Red. If I need to say it, red God Dammit!”  
“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it. Unless you’ve forgot the rules?”

No. I hadn’t forgot the rules. Our ‘other community’ is tight knit. We are actually a community within a community. Joining required… Well… Sort of an oath, but not really an oath. There’s no official chant, or anything, no sea of fucking ohms, but upon entering you were made aware of a certain agreement. Failure to comply with that agreement could mean exile from the community, and I can’t loose that. I need it. Yes, there are lots of leather clubs in Vancouver, but none offer what our community does, especially when it comes to safety. I’d had my share of bad experiences.

Not to mention, I have special needs that extend outside of sex. Kinky, masochistic sex is easy to find. I can pay someone for that. While the sex is important, what I require goes far beyond that.

I don't want to say he's right, but I know he waits for verification. I acknowledge him with my silence, looking to the ground defeated. He reaches out to touch me, a gesture through my hair he once used to calm me, but I defiantly move my head sideways—away from his hand. 

"Have it your way, Garnet. I'll be by Wednesday. Be ready for me."   
I want to tell him not to fucking bother, but it's not a fucking option. I glare at him, hating my life, grab my bag, and stalk out. Fuck him, fuck, yoga, and fuck love.


	3. Yoga Tuesday

"Why am I at yoga on a Tuesday, Soph?" This isn't our Saturday. Sure I'd joined, but I only committed to one day a week, not fucking two.  
Paying no mind to me, she moves to fix us some yoga tea, planting her ass on a pillow. I follow her lead, if begrudgingly; she hands me my tea. It's clear something's on her mind, and Sophie's not the type to keep it there; she's simply figuring the best way to say it without pissing me off. Too late.   
I snatch my tea, and shoot it back, almost slamming the little, white porcelain cup, down on the ground next to me. I draw my knees into my chest, uncomfortable as fuck in this stupid circle, and set a glare on my sweet friend.  
Never phased by my churlishness, she moves to fix me another tea. "You need this Garnet. You haven't been yourself for awhile, but Saturday night… You were impossible. If you refuse to visit your special friends......"  
"That's none of your fucking business Sophie!" I whisper yell, to maintain the tranquility of the space. She glares at me anyway, passing me the tea.   
"It is my 'fucking' business when you're an ass to me. What gives, Garnet?"  
"I'm, sorry." I sip my tea, feeling bad. She doesn't deserve my mood, and as much as I don't want to admit it, Charles and her are right; I need some sense knocked into me. I do need my 'special friends' but I'm too stubborn to ask.   
Nudging into me, I know she's forgiven me. Sophie's cool like that.  
I pull her to me, dragging a hand through her chestnut hair, sipping my tea quietly—that’s all there is to it for Sophie and I. 

When it's time for class, we gather our gear, and I follow behind Sophie. It's a hot class, so I've got my smaller shorts on; my chest is bare as always. My attention is immediately drawn to the same man I saw last Saturday. He sits on his block as before, only today he's kneeling. His toes are tucked under; neat, each of his ten toe pads pressed into his mat, and his ass rests on the block between his legs. He looks deep in meditation, an embodiment of serenity, yet his kneeling looks wrong.

This is definitely a man to kneel before.

He knows it too, his small shifts giving him away, revealing that he is not someone who is used to such a position. An exercise in perspective, perhaps? I'm hoping. I want Charles to be wrong, and not just because hot yoga guy is dreamy, but because I want to be right.  
For once.  
I place my mat beside Sophie's and smooth my towel over it, preparing to sweat like a mother fucker.

We are behind hot yoga guy, I'm free to look at him as I please, and this time I can make out his blue tattoo. It's a small dog of some sort—either a wolf, or coyote—howling to the moon, drawn to look like it was picked off a Totem pole.  
Faded, and plain, I wish it wasn't there, but it doesn't take away from his gorgeous back.  
The class lives up to its name—more than—it's hotter than the depths of hell. Sophie was right, I feel much better than when I came; yoga does have a soothing quality.   
I don't see hot yoga guy until he steps out of the shower I'm waiting for. His blue eyes look at me soft, appraising, "it's all yours," he says.  
His eyebrows go up, but I can't figure out why. "Thanks," I mumble. Fuck. It feels awkward, we're both feeling it, I can't look at him another second. I push past him; into the shower. As the cool water runs down my back, I'm quick to forget about the awkward hot yoga guy moment; I've got bigger problems.  
I have to see Charles tomorrow night.


	4. Master Erik

I got the text while I was at fucking work. 'Be ready for seven,' which means be ready for six forty-five. It's six forty-five now. Shit.  
I slam my book closed. It's a good fucking book. I want to curl up with it the rest of the night, and not think about my life, or Charles. I look around my apartment, thinking about where I want to place myself. It's a modest apartment. I don't need much space, and I made my final decision on purchasing this place because of the view. I still don't have a lot of furniture, only bought what I thought necessary: A couch, a coffee table, a bed, a kitchen table… The basics. I'd bought the place a year ago, but spent most of my time at Charles's house, and thought we'd eventually move in together. 

In front of the fireplace will have to do, but there's fucking hardwood there. I look at my watch—six forty-nine—I look around once more; there's nowhere else I can think of. Before I take my position, I decide to grab something from my bedroom. Six forty-nine, I sink to my knees. I have just enough time to tie the black scarf around my eyes, before I hear the door open.  
Charles has a key I never relinquished. I tried, but like with tonight, he fucking insisted he keep it.  
I'm in place, fucking wishing I'd opted for carpet, shifting like a newbie sub. I feel rusty, and really don't want to fucking do this, it's hard for me to find the right headspace.  
"A blindfold, Garnet, really?" He sounds amused. I smirk. "I'm taking this off. We need to talk before this session starts."

Joy, fucking, joy.

"Besides, you're not even prepared," he says, removing the only protection I have against him. I keep my eyes closed, and I hear him sigh. "Open your eyes, Garnet."  
I do, and my breath catches. I'm so flummoxed; I speak out of turn forgetting almost every rule I've learned over the past five years. "Master Erik, sir. What are you doing here?" I'm going to fucking kill Charles for bringing Master Erik to my apartment. At the same time, I'm anxious—what if he's here to banish me from the House? I couldn't fucking take that right now on top of everything else. I set daggers on Charles, jumping to the worst of my conclusions. 

"Calm, down." He turns to Master Erik, "you see? He needs someone, but I don’t know that it can be me."  
Hearing that does relax me, some, but I'd been a member of the House long enough to know Master Erik makes the final decisions. Charles may be Master Erik’s second in command, but Erik is King, Lord, whatever you want to call him—he’s in charge. He could decide I don't represent the House—that's a huge rule. How each of us makes the house look matters.  
I'd also broken another valuable; trust. I hadn't been to the House since mine, and Charles's breakup and I hadn't relied on the members of the house when I'd needed them most.  
Master Erik's austere face had not changed since he'd walked his large, frame through the door. His face didn't change often, being every bit the Dominant in the flesh I'd read about in books before I'd entered this world—except no leather. Master Erik prefers jeans, and casual shirts, to match his sandy-blonde hair.  
Giving a nod to Charles, he steps in front of me, and my heart beats off rhythm as I await my fate.  
"I have one question for you my Garnet; does it still interest you to be a member of Alpha Omega House?" He asks. "This does not matter if you do not." He gestures to me kneeling on the floor.  
His words mean everything to me, a warm feeling circles my heart, and my anger washes away. On cue, of course is the guilt that usually replaces anger. I've been an ass to, so many people in a short span of days.  
"No, sir," I almost cry, "I very much want to remain a member of the House."  
"Very, well. We shall have to act accordingly—you understand?" Erik's Eastern Canadian accent hinted at his origin, but I'd never had the balls to ask him where he was originally from. He looked far more Californian than Canadian, but when he speaks he’s a dead ringer for a Newfoundlander.  
"Yes, Master Erik. I accept." I find my position again, the one I'd broken, and wait—knees touching the floor, toes tucked under me, each hand on opposing elbow (which, I tell you, is no easy feat) behind my back, and bow my head letting my mid-length black hair fall over my face.  
"Master Erik, may I have a moment with him, before you begin?"  
Master Erik answers with a nod, and moves to the kitchen.  
Charles walks over, and grabs my chin. He's gentle, but I still don't like it. He's the reason I'm heartbroken.  
"I know you think I'm an ass, but I'm doing this because I care about you... Because I care about us. I know I've told you all this before, but I want to say it again before you enter your session with Master Erik and perhaps it will finally resonate." 

"I love you, sweetheart. I told you when we broke up that I hoped this wouldn't be forever, and that I'm here for you no matter what. None of that's changed, and it never will."  
He had said those things, except I don't take fucking breaks. If we were over, we're over... But I am willing to reconcile. At the same time, I'm not holding my breath, and I know my wounded pride would take it out on him if we tried at this point.  
"I wanted to be the one to help you—it's still hard for me to relinquish control of you—but I don’t think it would work for you just now. I want what’s best for you."  
His words don't soften me a bit. I still hate him for doing this, but love him because I can't stop. I say nothing, and glare on. He sighs.

"Have it your way then, Garnet. Master Erik, he's ready for you."

~AO~

Charles left ages ago, and Master Erik has yet to say a word. Proper etiquette takes more concentration than before, as I kneel under the weight of his stare. My hands are clasped at my back now (Master Erik requested I change positions), with my arms straight, elbows locked. My toe pads are tucked under with all ten pressed into the hard wood. The thought of them, each toe, pushing away the ground, and turning white under the strain of holding my body weight as my ass presses into my heels brings to mind hot yoga guy. I wonder how I look when I’m on my knees? Do my toes look as flawless, and even as his did? Or is it easy to tell how much they hurt from the prolonged pressure?  
Master Erik had me remove my shirt, and I’m feeling a little chill. Most Dominants like to do that shit. It’s supposed to give me something to focus on, but that’s only one reason. Instead I find these things uncomfortable—Master Erik knows–fucking sadists…  
My eyes are cast down, watching his bare feet stand solid, as he decides what to do with me. “You know the calamity of this transgression, Garnet. Failure to seek out one of the family when you are in clear need is a strict violation. You have five minutes to convince me why I shouldn’t go home to retrieve my horsetail. Go.”  
Shit. I don’t doubt he’ll do it. “I’m sorry, sir.” I keep my eyes low, “It hurts.” That’s the only explanation I have for him.  
His large hand tilts my chin up until I can see his blue eyes. They are concerned, and they understand what I mean even if I’m not entirely sure what I mean. He nods. “You’ve always been a man of few words, Garnet, but those eyes of yours get your point across.” He releases my chin, and I look down. “The break up has been hard on you—would it please you to know it’s been just as difficult for Charles?”  
Fuck yeah, but I can’t say that to Master Erik. I haven’t answered, but he’s chuckling, “like I said, you can’t keep the words off your face.”  
I smile.  
“Look up, please,” he commands, “Charles tells me you’ve joined a yoga club, yeah?”  
“I did, sir.”  
“And? How is it?” He’s a little too curious about yoga, which should have been my first clue.  
“It… Relaxes me. I… Sophie, thought it would be good for me, sir.”  
“Yes, Miss Sophie. She would make a good Mistress that one… Well, was she right?”  
“Yes, sir.” I’m blushing at the thought of ‘Mistress Sophie.’ I hope that never happens.  
“It wasn’t your idea, though. Can I assume you are being stubborn about the process? In true, Garnet fashion?”  
I can’t keep the anger off my face, and my jaw from clenching, but I give a respectful, “yes, sir.”  
“I can’t let your transgression go, Garnet,” he says, “but in this case I find your actions somewhat warranted; therefore, the punishment for this will be light—at least by my standards.”  
“Your challenges often lie in your failure to control your emotions—you allow them to guide your actions. Emotions have their place, but you must learn to use more logic, and reason. This is why you often find yourself in trouble; in part, it’s why your relationship with Charles failed.”  
His words hurt, but deep down, I know it’s the truth. I feel his hand run through my dark hair, and re-adjust my chin, so it tilts up–I must have looked down again.  
“You are failing to focus long enough to hold position, Garnet, I’m disappointed.”  
Another cut: Another truth.  
I need to please; I crave it. He’s fucking killing me with this lecture. I’m more than ready for my punishment.  
“First, I will deal with your punishment; I want you to attend more yoga.”  
“More yoga, sir?” How is that a punishment?  
“Five days a week. You may take off Wednesdays, and Sundays, which will be reserved for me—though if you find you’d like to fit it in before you see me I won’t object.”  
Five fucking days of fucking yoga a week? It’s hard to keep from groaning. Okay, now I see how it’s a punishment.  
“Do you have a problem with this punishment? It’s not too late to retrieve that whip….”  
“No, Master Erik.”  
“Good.”  
Bastard. I fucking hate that whip, and he knows it.  
“Will two days a week be enough? I’ll move the persons I have to in order to make time for you, Garnet. You mean very much to the House… And to me.”  
That jolts me out of whatever depressed haze I’d been floating in—in this session. “Two days will be plenty, and I’m honored you would take the time to correct me. Thank-you, sir.”  
“Master, I will be Master to you now for as long as you need me.” His hard eyes finalize the moment, and I wonder how deep he means his words.  
I’ve worked with Master Erik many times. I’d spent some time with him before Charles and I were and item, but he and I have never been together. Under normal circumstances, I’m an excellent sub—if I do say so myself—and I’d become somewhat of a ‘Teacher’s Pet’ earning the endearment ‘My Garnet’ from him.  
“I will not punish you for your disrespect towards Master Charles this time. I will leave that as a matter between you and him, but know for future that you will be severely punished for that flippant tongue of yours—I will not tolerate such behavior from any of our members towards each other. We are family.”  
“Yes, Master.” I guess I was an ass, but this time, I only feel mild shame at my actions. I’d never feel sorry for sassing Charles that day. He deserved it.  
“Now that we’ve taken care of your transgressions, we will move onto the heart of the matter. Tonight’s session will be simple; I’m going to give you a long hard spanking, and while I do you are going to think until the pain becomes unbearable—and I promise you it will—at which point, I am going to switch to this.” He pulls out an evil looking tawse from his jean’s pocket. “You won’t be able to think about anything but the pain after that.”

It would be both pure heaven, and pure hell. 

“What is your safeword?”  
“Red, sir.”  
“Good. If you need it, use it. Let’s begin.”


	5. Yoga Thursday

It feels like falling.

Fuck. No it doesn’t. It feels like the fucking depths of hell, living on my ass. I can’t fucking sit and even standing, my ass aches. Master Erik’s hand hurts a helluva a lot more than Charles’s ever did—I’d forgot just how well he could make a point. I lost track of how long he used that hand made of fucking adamantium and I was hollering and crying before he even started in on me with that fucking tawse, which I sure as hell hope I never see a-fucking-gain. 

To add insult to injury, I can’t fucking believe I’m here on a Thursday, and without fucking Sophie. She knew what was up right away. Our text conversation went something like this:

“You down for some yoga this afternoon, Soph?”  
“Who is this?”  
“Fuck you.”  
“No seriously. Who stole Garnet’s phone?”  
“Fuck you.”  
“LOL! Okay, it’s you, but really… You? Yoga on a Thursday? Tuesday was like pulling teeth.”  
At this point, I wondered why I bothered texting her; should have gone alone.  
“You still there, G?”  
“You coming, or not?”  
“Sorry, can’t. Working.”  
“Call in sick.”  
“No.”  
“Please?”  
“No. I can go tomorrow.”  
“Okay, tomorrow.” I’d still have to go today, but I’m securing her for tomorrow.  
“Why you, so gung-ho ‘bout yoga all of a sudden?”  
Fuck. I don’t want to answer that—cause I’m not ‘gung-ho’ about yoga. Far from it. I don’t answer, giving her enough time to think and come to her own conclusion. Of course she guesses right.  
“Does this have to do with your ‘special friends?’”  
“That’s none of your biz.”  
“I’ll take that as a yes! What did you do?”  
“How do you know I did something? Maybe I’m being rewarded.”  
“You hate yoga, and would never go on a Thursday unless forced.”  
I wish I wasn’t, so damned predictable.  
“You’re secured for tomorrow.”  
I had to wait a minute for a text back. She had mercy on me.  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
A minute passed.  
“Behave.”  
The idea of Mistress Sophie flashes in my brain. I’ll never fucking forgive Master Erik for making me think of her as Mistress Sophie. 

Yoga is a different experience without her. I have to pour my own tea and I feel weird about doing it—like people are fucking staring at me as if they know I don’t belong here. Fuck you, fucking hipster yogis. I sit on a chair instead of the pillow circle; I hope no one will talk to me, but the dude with the dreads who works here, ignores my ‘don’t come the fuck near me’ vibe. 

“Hello, friend. I’ve noticed you been in here a lot.” He nods at my mat, “maybe you wanna consider buying a good mat. Will blow your mind how much your yoga will improve.” 

Cute. Buddy thinks I want to improve my yoga and that we’re friends. I think about telling him ‘we’re not fucking friends’, but am worried about potential spies lurking around and reporting back to Master Erik. If Charles is a yogi, there could be others. 

“Thanks,” I say curtly, take a last sip of my tea and head into class. Might as well get a good spot and not have to talk to this fucker any longer. 

Turns out I get the pick of spots; barely anyone is in class. It’s still fucking hot in the room; I’ve learned that means there’s been a hot class in here just before. Whoa. I’m going to have to lie down. I spread out my mat, grab a block, lie down and close my eyes. I try to ‘zen-out’ as they say in yoga, but I don’t really know what that means. Right now, it’s just me lying on a mat thinking about my throbbing ass and why it’s throbbing. 

Inside, I feel better. I can’t articulate why except that I do. In the moment, when I explode my feelings all over the damn place, I always feel my anger is warranted, but afterward I feel like a fucking ass. A Spanking is the only thing that seems to calm my emotions. Physical stimulation enough to hurt like it feels like I’m having a near death experience. I never am. Not with any of the members of the House. That’s what makes them… Well, them. It’s a safe community for me to get this need taken care of; where I don’t have to fear rejection, ridicule, or abuse. 

There’s one more aspect for me; it’s not just the release of emotions. I wish it weren’t so, believe me; but the truth is, authority fucking turns me on—makes my cock harder than steel. I wish to the almighty it didn’t, but it does and the orgasms are better than orgasms—and nothing’s better than an orgasm except the kind I get from… Well, I think that’s enough of that. Let’s just say: Awesome. 

Now my dick’s hard at the thought of Master Erik last night and the feel of my aching ass, right in the middle of this stupid yoga class that I don’t want to be at. Even that—the fact that I’m here because I was told to be here and that I don’t fucking want to be here—turns me on.  
I hear people starting to file in. I lay for a bit longer, but eventually sit up and hiss when my ass makes contact with my feet. I’m kneeling, of course, as a good sub should, and plan to practice this position as often as I can in class, so I can impress Master Erik. 

That’s how I am—kneeling in place—when I notice: He’s here and he’s right the fuck beside me. Shit. 

And not he as in Master Erik he; worse: Hot Yoga Guy. Okay. I have to pretend like I don’t notice he’s there, all hot and smoldery. I attempt to settle into my position, but it’s fucking hard with my ass this sore and a Hulk-like boner. I’m not still at all and wriggle around every five seconds, adjusting where my heels touch my ass. The fabric of my shorts isn’t helping either; maybe a block will help? I shift and am making a lot of noise while doing it, as I place the block between my feet. I can’t help but notice Hot Yoga Guy is serene beside me; still as a fucking palace guard, centered as the Dalai Lama himself. I sit back on the block and it is a bit better, the flat surface doesn’t dig in the same way my heels did, but it still hurts. I force myself to grin and bear it. For thirty seconds all is well, but then I start shifting again. 

I’m an experienced sub, I should be able to take the pain and ride it today; focus on it and use it for my meditation, ‘cept I can’t and I don’t know why. Fuck. I want to leave. Of course I can leave, I’m my own person, it’s a free world and all that other bullshit, but there are consequences to my leaving and right now I have a reminder of that making me extremely un-fucking-comfortable. If I want to remain in Alpha Omega House, which I do, I have to respect Master Erik’s orders and if I don’t, I’m likely to get more of what is already there, which I don’t want, so that translates into: I can’t fucking leave yoga class and an aching Prick. God Damn. 

I’m wrapped up in the middle of my own hell, just wanting class to begin, so I can get off my ass when I hear from beside me, “breathe.”

Did fucking Hot Yoga Guy just speak to me?

I peak an eye open in his direction. He’s still the picture of fucking serenity, hands resting on his thighs (he has no trouble sitting his heels against his ass) and thumb and middle fingers touching to make perfect circles. His eyes are closed, head and chest up tall and he’s smiling a small straight-lipped smile with the corners of his mouth turned up, just. 

“Try, it,” he says, just this side of a demand and confirming it was him who had spoke to me, besides there’s no one on my fucking right, so it had to of been him. I feel like I should say something back. “Yeah, thanks.” Pushy Bastard.

But at the same time I think he’s a Pushy Bastard, I’m trying to calm myself down for a new reason: Hot Yoga Guy just spoke to me. There’s no way he’s into men though and even if he’s into men, Charles is right; he won’t be what I need in a partner. It’s better I don’t travel down that trail of disappointment.

Still, the man has an aura about him… A thick presence. It’s like he owns the whole fucking room and everyone in it, like he might have commanded an army, in another life; since he looked too young to have in this one. There’s no doubt; he’s disciplined. If he isn’t a Dom, he’d make a good one. I can’t help my attraction to authoritative, strong men. It gets me going and I can’t fucking speak around them. 

When I’d first met Charles, I was quiet and shy our first five dates. Yeah. Me. Fucking shy. No one would believe it, but it’s true. I was a mess and I couldn’t say one God Damn, intelligent thing. 

I have that feeling now, but it’s muted because of the fact I know, just know, this man is into women and not men. He likes pussy, not cock. 

Cock. Fuck. I wonder what his fucking cock looks like?

In my own fucked up mind, I pretend like he’s given me an order and I breathe; in through my nose, out through my mouth and focus on nothing but that until the instructor begins the class. By fuck, it works and I’m able to take my mind off my ass and have a decent class. 

At the end, I pack up my rented mat and notice how nice hot yoga guy’s mat is for the first time. I never paid much attention to mats before, but since the douchey, hipster, yogi-dude said something, I notice it now. Maybe I will get one… Since I’m going to be here a lot. 

“Good, job.” I hear from beside me. 

“Huh?” It’s Hot Yoga Guy. “I mean, uh, thanks.” 

He smiles a smile at me that beams, yet is tranquil; he’s barely moved his lips at all. How does he fucking do that? I feel good from his smile; like the whole fucking world can burn down now, I’m content. Damn him and his pussy loving ways. 

I add my mat in the bin and head to the showers. That class was fucking hot even though it wasn’t meant to be and my sore ass will like the warm water. Speaking of, I’d need to make sure that shit was covered. I’m not ashamed—well mostly not ashamed—of my ‘special needs’, but I don’t like questions about my often, red ass. Most people don’t understand when I try to explain it anyway and those people never will, it’s just the way it is.  
Sophie’s pretty cool about it. She likes to tease me in a fun way, but she doesn’t mean any harm by it. I trust her with my most vulnerable secret; if anyone at work found out, they’d think I was a sick pervert.  
I’m in a towel and heading to the showers when I swear to God I feel eyes on me. When I turn to look, Hot Yoga Guy is there, staring at me with his unusually blue eyes. He’s not even trying to hide that he’s staring at me like he should be. Societal conduct dictates that even if I’ve blatantly seen him staring at me, he should quickly look away and pretend to be staring at the floor, or something else of equally little interest. He doesn’t do that of course. He keeps looking at me until I feel more naked than I already am. It’s an intense kind of stare, like one I’d expect from Master Erik, only Hot Yoga Guy’s stare is filled with a calm thunder. I really don’t want to mess with this dude.

I blush. Maybe he’s not into pussy after all. I’m beginning to loose my shit, but instinctively—probably because I’d just done it for the past ninety minutes—I breathe and my mini freak out stops where it started. Is he going to say something, or should I?  
“You’ve been coming here a lot,” he says. In other words: He’s noticed me too. 

“Yeah. My friend said I might like yoga.”

“She’s not here today,” he states it but it sounds like a fucking question to me and I feel like I have to explain myself. 

“She couldn’t make it.”

“You must like yoga then, if you’re here on your own that is.” There’s something sparkling in his eyes, and I think I’m detecting a bit of sarcasm. 

“It’s calming,” I say defensively. 

He nods his agreement looking bright and wise like he should be at the top of a mountain waiting for knights to come ask him his high counsel on matters of the kingdom. Is this guy for real? Or is he a yoga-induced apparition?

I feel obligated to tell him my name, “Tommy.” I say… in my head. No I don’t say that out loud, but I want to. Tommy—another name way cooler than Garnet, it goes on the list of potentials. 

“Garnet,” I say extending my hand. 

“Gemstone…” he says taking my hand and shaking it. 

“Huh?”

“A Garnet is a gemstone. A precious gemstone.”

I knew that of course, didn’t my story start this way? I think it’s called irony. But right now I don’t hate him saying so, like I’d always hated it when others ‘informed’ me about my name; I’d never heard it sound like that.  
A blind man could see he’s flirting with me; I blush again staring at him a little dumbfounded. The shower becomes available just after that and I feel rushed to get into the shower, so I don’t hold up the line, but at the same time, I want to tell the line-up to go fuck themselves, so I can find out Hot Yoga Guy’s name. 

I don’t. I bite my lip, so I don’t smile at him too wide and leave to have my shower without another word. I take a shower that’s longer than usual, to calm my nerves, and half hope he’ll be gone by the time I finish—I don’t know that I can look at him again—the other half, of course, hoping he’ll be there ready to give me his number. I can’t believe he was flirting with me… or was he? Maybe I’d imagined it. 

When I get out, the change room is almost empty; I don’t see Hot Yoga Guy anywhere. 

Thank. Fucking. God. 

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
